


Grenade

by theslytherinqueen



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Boys Kissing, Cancer, Established Relationship, Hazel Grace Lancaster (mentions), Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love, Lung Cancer, M/M, Phan - Freeform, Phanfiction, Sad, Sad Ending, TFIOS mentions, dan's kind of silly, well the concept is based off of a TFIOS quote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theslytherinqueen/pseuds/theslytherinqueen
Summary: Dan is diagnosed with cancer and he's desperate not to be a grenade.





	Grenade

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER (for the whiners): this is a work of fiction. in no way is this true, i made it up. i am not trying to say that phan is real, i just like the ship. also one of the characters says mean things to chris, pj and louise- i in NO WAY (whatsoever) believe any of these things i actually love the aforementioned you tubers. I don't think that they are true.

My mind went blank as soon as I heard the word cancer.  My eyes blurred and I was without thought.  Empty.  As if the tumor inside of me was feasting on my very soul. My flesh was pasty and pale, and my eyes were wide, the doctor’s words flying in one ear and out of the other. 

Cancer. 

And there I was, thinking that it was just a cough. 

“Stage 4 lung cancer is treatable, and you have a chance of survival if you get treated.”  The doctor says, “It isn’t curable, however, because the tumor is too big for us to remove it.  But, we could put you on various drugs, especially if we want to stop the cancer from spreading further-”

“Just cut to the chase,” I interrupt, “how long do I have?”

He looks affronted. 

“Sir?”  I add, in a half-hearted attempt to be polite.  

“It depends, Mr. Howell.”  He sighed, “If you have treatment, you could survive six to twelve months, and without you could survive two to four months.  But it all depends, Mr. Howell, because different factors effect how long you survive. Small, unchangeable things like your age, sex, anything.” 

“Right.”  I say flatly.  Even with treatment I only stand a chance of surviving a year?  What’s the point?

“I know this is a lot to take in.”  The doctor begins.

“No,” I interrupt sarcastically, “I would have never guessed that being told that I’m going to die would be ‘a lot to take in’.” 

“Sir, I understand that this is difficult, but there is no need for you to take that tone with me.”  The doctor says, “Take a couple of days to decide whether you want treatment or not.  Call the hospital when you’ve made your decision.  If you want treatment, then you will need to call us as soon as possible, because it’s better if you star treatment sooner rather than later.  I would recommend that you sit down with someone and talk to them, and you can come to a decision together.”

“Who would I talk to?”

“Your family?  Perhaps a partner, then.”

I try to think about telling Phil.  He would want me to get treated, because he wants me to outlive him.  He is afraid of losing me.  I promised him that I would stay forever.  I guess promises are only the lies we want to keep.  Fate doesn’t want it that way.  And if I told Phil, then he would just get worried and I wouldn’t be able to spend my last days with him normally.  He would want to take care of me, and I would want to be left alone.  “Not a choice.”  I say firmly, “I don’t want to tell him unless I absolutely have to.”

“That isn’t entirely healthy-” he begins, but stops after he sees the death glare I shot him, “Maybe a friend?”  he suggests. 

"Nope."  I say, popping the 'p'.  They would just treat me as if I'm broken.  Pity would hide behind fake smiles and false gestures. 

"Are you sure you have no-one?" he asks.

"I have people."  I say, "I just want the last bits of my life to be as normal as possible."

"Well, if you tell them-"

"I said that's not an option!"  I shout, beginning to lose my temper, "They would just pity me!"

The doctor stays calm and collected and says,  "Perhaps a parent or a grandparent?"

I pause for a second.  "I don't know."  I say.

"Tell someone.  I can't imagine what it would be like to go through this alone.  No matter what happens, you need support."  the doctor said, "I'll see you soon, Mr. Howell."

"Dan."  I said, "Call me Dan."

He smiles at me.  "See you soon, Dan."

* * *

_I'm a grenade and at some point I'm going to blow up and I would like to minimise the casualties_.  

Hazel Grace Lancaster said that.  

I agree.

When you know your death is not only inevitable, but is going to happen soon, you realise that you can't only be seen as a human anymore.  You are a human, don't get me wrong, but you slowly see yourself as a ticking time-bomb.  

_Tick.  Tock._

You can imagine people's reaction's to your death.  You can see the people you love hurting and you can see people hurt as soon as you pass and there's nothing you can do about it.  

_Tick.  Tock._

But there is something you can do.

_Tick.  Tock._

There's something I can do.  

_Tick.  Tock._

I will not be a grenade.  

_Tick.  Tock._

I will cut myself out of the picture.  There will be a world in which my death doesn't affect other people, and if that means breaking my heart time and time again, if that means isolating myself for my last hours, if that means being truly alone when I die, I don't care  

_Tick.  Tock._

_Tick.  Tock._

_Tick.  Tock._

I will cut everyone out before I explode.  Before my time is up.  

_Tick.  Tock._

_Tick.  Tock._

_Tick.  Tock._

I will minimise the casualties before I die.  

_Tick.  Tock._

_Tick.  Tock._

_Tick.  Tock._

_Boom._

* * *

 When I reach home, Phil is blissfully oblivious to the weight of the news that was resting on my shoulders.  he grins at me as I walk in. 

"How was the appointment?"  he says.  

"It was okay.  Just a cough."  I lie, "I need to take some paracetamol.  And cough sweets."  

"Good." he laughs, "Glad you don't have the plague or anything."  He smiles at me.  

"Yeah..."  I say, "I'm going to lie down."  

I turn to my room, and he says, "Wait!"  I turn back around, so that I was facing him.  "Sit here."  He pats the couch next to him, "I want to spend sometime with you.  You're sick, I want to take care of you."  I want to say  _I was right:  I knew you would react like his if you found out I was sick._   He thinks I only have a cough and he wants to take care of me.  What would he have done if I told him the truth?  

"I want to lie down."  I say.  

He shuffles a bit up the couch, "Lie down here, and you can put your head on my chest." 

"I- Okay."  I say, and I lie down and put my head on his chest.  He instantly moves his hand into my hair and he begins to fiddle with my curls.  I look up at him, my brown eyes staring into his blue-green-yellow ones.  He smiles down at me.  

"Get better, bear."  He says.  

_I won't._ I think.  I stay silent, and pretend to sleep, much like I'm pretending that everything is okay, when really everything (me included) is falling apart.  

* * *

"I'm going to Wokingham."  I announce as I walk into the kitchen.  Phil is making yet another bowl of cereal.  

"Why is that?"  He replies, "Nothing important is going on and you hate visiting your family."

"I just want to."  I lie, "Maybe it's time to repair our relationship."

"Okay?"  Phil replies, suspicious, "Do you want me to come with, or...?"

"No."  I say too quickly.  "I mean- err, I'm planning on coming out and I don't want you to see that shitstorm."

"Really?  Why have you changed your mind?"  

"I dunno.  I guess it's just time."

"Okay."  Pause.  "How long are you going for?"  

"The weekend."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"This is starting to turn into TFIOS."  Phil jokes.  

I plaster a fake smile onto my face.  If only he knew how true his words were.

* * *

My parents are suspicious.  I never visit them unless it's one hundred percent obligatory.  There's no particular reason for this- we just grew apart.  They didn't agree with my decisions, I just liked spending more time with Phil.  

They don't know that I'm bisexual.  I have always been worried about their reactions as I've seen them be bigoted before.  I know that they love me and whatever, but they always had their opinions on "the gays" when I was growing up, and I'm sure that hasn't changed.  They grew up in a time where "coming out" wasn't really a thing, where the LGBTQ+ community was generally frowned upon.  I'm glad that times have changed, but I know that it takes time for people to change their opinions.  My parents have shown me no signs of changing their opinions. 

My plan is to tell them that I'm bi and then they'll disown me, and they won't become casualties when I die.  

"So, why did you decide to visit all of a sudden?"  My dad says, "Not that your presence isn't welcome- I was just telling your mother that you don't visit nearly as often as you should."

"Uh, well, I have something to tell you."  I say slowly.  

"Well, go on."  My mum said impatiently, "I'm not getting any younger."  She grinned at me so that I knew that she was joking.  

"I'm bisexual."  

My parents look at each other.  And then look back at me.  There is a silence between us.  

My dad is the first to break the silence.  

"Is that it?"  he says. 

I frown slightly, "Yeah...?"

"You visited just to tell us that?"  my mum says.  

"Yeah."  I take a deep breath, "I know you might, like, not love me anymore-"

"That's bullshit, and you know it."  My dad interrupts me. 

"Harry!"  My mum chastises.

"It's true.  We would never love you any less because you're bi!" He exclaims, "We love you, son, and if we've done anything to make you believe that we would disown you for liking guys then we've failed as parents."

I'm shell-shocked.  Out of everything I expected, this not it.  I begin to panic inside.  I need them to hate me.  

Or maybe this is a sign for me to tell them the truth.  (Phil is the one who believes in these things, not me).  

But in that moment I break. 

"I'm dying."  I say, a tear trailing down my cheek.  

"What?"  My mum says, her voice practically inaudible.  

I gulp, "I have cancer.  Stage 4.  I'm refusing treatment."

My mum lets out a sob a runs across the room to me.  She wraps her arms around me.  "No..."  she says, aghast.  

"I'm sorry."  I say.

My dad stays silent, although he is frozen with shock.  

I'm crying along with my mum.  

"Dan..."  My mum says, "My beautiful son..."

"I- err- haven't told anyone else."  I say through the tears.  

"I can't believe this."  she says. 

"How long does the doctor say you have?"  my dad says.  His voice sounds choked, as if he's going through too much pain.  He won't show it, though.  He believes that he has to be strong.  

"Four months, well three and a half months now, at most."  I say.  

My mum sobs harder.  "You're so young."  she says, "You don't deserve this."  

"Well, sometimes fate is a bitch."  I say.  

And we sit like that for a while:  me on the sofa, silent tears streaming down my face; my mum with her arms wrapped around me, sobbing into my shoulder; and my dad just sitting there, forcing the tears back.  

* * *

My parents refuse to leave my side for the rest of the weekend.  They are both shocked, and they want e to stay for longer.  I promise to visit them and stay with them after I finish off some "work" I have to do in London.  The "work" in question is minimising casualties. I failed on the parent front, but maybe I'll be able to salvage the feelings of people who aren't my immediate family.  

At the minute, I have a few thing on my bucket list as well.  I never thought that I would ever regret what I didn't do in my life when I died, but all of a sudden I  feel too young.  Even though I am trying to convince myself otherwise, I'm not ready for death.  I'm in my twenties, for Christ's sake!  I am not ready to die, I am not ready.  

But death is coming.  With or without treatment.  

I don't want to put it off.  There is no point when there is not a high chance of me surviving more than five years.  

Four months is enough.

I won't complete the things on my bucket list.  I'm not going to try and visit Japan again or get hitched or anything of the sort.  I want to die in normality.  I want to spend a couple of months with Phil and then stay with my parents.  

Death will come for me.  

I am not ready for death.  But I will be.  

* * *

"How did they take it?" Phil says as soon as I walk into the apartment.  He's trying to read my face for a sign.  

"They were really supportive."  I say, "They thought I was silly for not telling them.  Mum cried a bit."   _But not because of the coming out thing._

"That's good.  Do they know about us?"

"Yes."  I say, because I talked to my parents about Phil for most of the weekend.  They didn't understand why I wasn't going to tell him about my  _condition_ , but they accepted it anyway (because you can't really say 'no' to a dying man).

"That's good." He grins at me.  

I smile back.  "You know what I missed doing all weekend?"  I say, leaning in close to him and lowering my voice a bit.  

"Yeah?" he said, putting his arms on my waist.  

I lean in to whisper in his ear, "Playing Mario Kart."  I giggle a little and he rolls his eyes at me.  

"Actually shut up."  he says, before leaning in an kissing me.  He pushes me backwards so that I'm pressed against the wall, and I tangle my hands in his hair.  He pulls back and presses his lips against my neck and his hands wander up my t-shirt, caressing my back and stomach.  I'm about to pull his face up so that he can keep kissing me when he bites down on the skin, and I groan. 

And then I have a coughing fit.  He sits me down on the couch and pats my back, whilst scanning the room for water.  He finds an abandoned water bottle on the coffee table and he gives it to me.  I have a drink and I take a few deep breaths.  Maybe making out isn't the easiest thing to do when you already have a lack of oxygen...

"You okay there, Dan?"  Phil said, still rubbing my back.  

"Yeah..." I say, "God, that coughing fit must've made me look  _so sexy_."

He laughs, "Yeah, definitely, I want to take you right now."  

I grin at him before reattaching our lips.

* * *

“We need to meet up with some of our friends.”  I say, pretending that it’s an idea that I just came up with, out of the blue.  “PJ, Chris, Louise, y’know.”  I’m nestled in a galaxy blanket, and Phil is fiddling with the DVD player. 

“Really?”  Phil says, turning around to look at me, “Why?”

“I dunno?  I just want to see them.”

“Okay...?”  He says, “Should I call them?”

“Just text them?” I suggest.

“Okay.  I’ll tell them to come over on Sunday.”

“Tell them to bring alcohol.”  I say, “We’ll provide shots and shit, but if they want like a specific drink that can bring it.”

“Okay.”  He replies, taking his phone out and drafting a text. 

“And come over here.” 

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss you, but I’m too comfy to move.” 

He roll his eyes and sits next to me on the sofa.  “Have you still got that cough?”  he asks.

“Yeah...”  I lie, knowing that he’s probably heard my late night coughing fits.  I normally have to get out of bed and grab a glass of water. 

“Is it contagious?”  He asks. 

“Why, are you worried about getting the plague?”  I joke, wiggling my fingers at him. 

“No, of course not, but it mustn’t be good if we’re making out all the time.”

“It’s fine.  It’s not contagious, I promise.” 

“Okay then, come here.”  I shuffle towards him, still cocooned in the blanket.  He giggles before pressing his lips to my forhead. 

“That wasn’t what I meant by kissing.” I say. 

He shrugs.  I lean in and kiss him on the lips, shoving the blanket off of my body.   I kiss him hard, pressing him into the sofa, ready to snog the life out of him, when he pulls away slightly. 

“I love you.”  He says. 

“I know.”  I reply, before kissing him again. 

I want to kiss him and snog him and love him as much as I can whilst he's still mine.  

* * *

Chris, PJ, Louise and Phil are all slightly drunk.  It's midnight and they've been here for three hours.  We've just being hanging out, as good friends do.  I've been drinking a non-alcoholic beer, as my doctor told me not to drink alcohol at all, especially since I'm refusing treatment.  My friends have no clue though- they think I'm as shit-faced as they are.  I giggle at a joke Phil made and lean into him slightly.  

"Ugh, can you guys get a room?"  Chris jokes when Phil wraps his arms around me and kisses me on the forehead.   _Now's the time_.  I think,  _Come on, Dan.  Minimise the casualties, cut them out._

"Why?"  I say, "Are you jealous?"  

"Of you and Phil?"  Chris scoffs.

"Are you jealous that I can get a relationship?"  I say, letting malice sneak into my voice.  I hate saying these untrue things about my friends, but at least they won't be sad when I die.  I would be happier knowing that they'll think of my death as karma, not as a sad thing. "Y'know,"  I continue, "you must be jealous that I can actually hold up a relationship rather than sleeping around like some whore."  

"Dan!"  Phil says, but I cut him off. 

"Stay out of it." I spit.  

"Oh, Dan, don't shout at your boyfriend."  Chris says, "He's the only one who'd actually resort to fucking you." 

I pretend to lunge towards Chris, and Phil grabs my arms and holds me back.

"Calm down, both of you."  Louise says. 

"Or what?"  I snap, "You're not my  _mum_."  I have to stop myself from wincing when she looks hurt.  Louise was always someone who I could go to, someone who could be happy.  "You try and be the controlling towards us, with your holier-than-thou attitude.  Just because you have a kid doesn't mean you can baby us!"  I spit. 

"Dan, calm down."  Phil said, still holding me back. 

"I told you to stay out of it, Phil." 

"You're showing us your true colours."  Chris spits, "You think you're better than us, don't you?"

"Well, maybe there's a reason I have more subscribers!"  They all look shocked.  

"So you do think you're better than us."  Someone says quietly.  It isn't Chris, Louise or Phil.  It's PJ, who's sat there silently.  I shrug.  "Well,"  he said, "You would be _nothing_ without Phil."  He said, "You would be nothing but an egotistical ass."  I'm surprised that PJ was saying these things.  He's normally the kind, quiet one.  

In that moment, I want to take everything back.  

Instead, I say, "It's better than being a good-for-nothing pansy."

"That's enough!"  Phil says, raising his voice, "Dan, go upstairs."

I listen to him, and walk upstairs.  I can hear him say "I'm so sorry, I don't know what got into him"  as I walk up the stairs.  

"He's shown his true colours."  Chris replies.  

"I'm sure he's drunk, he didn't mean it."  Phil says.  

"He thinks he's better than all of us."  Chris argues, "And he made Louise cry!"  

"I'm sorry."  Phil says.

"I think we won't be coming around until he apologises to us."  PJ says.  

"I'll see you soon."  Phil says.  

I hear them open the front door as I sit down on Phil's bed.  

A minute later, he's running up the stairs.  He opens the door.  

"What the _fuck_ was that?"  he says.  I know he's mad at me, because he's standing in the doorway, instead of joining me on the bed.

"I don't know what came over me."  I lie.  

"They're really hurt, Dan."

"I know.  I'll let them cool off for a couple of weeks, and then I'll apologise."

He stays silent.  

I walk over to him and put my arms around his waist.  "You know I didn't mean any of that."  It's the only true thing I've said for a while.

"I know."  He says, pulling me closer and hugging me.  My face presses against his hair, and he squeezes me slightly.   "I love you."  he says.

"I love you too.  I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"I know."  He says.  

We just stay there for a while.  Two boys in a bedroom.  Two hearts beating as one.   

* * *

I'm packing a bag.  Not much more to say about that. 

I’m packing a bag because I’m going to break up with Phil soon.  I’ve been selfish.  For three months I have been indulging myself.  I’ve been allowing myself to bask in his love- in _our_ love- and I am hurting him in the process.  Not _now_ , but I will.  He needs to get over me, so I’m packing a bag. 

_Minimise the casualties._

I put in clothes, chargers, games consoles, and I realize that I won’t need any of that shit.  In a month, I will be dead (unless there is some sort of a miracle). 

I frown at the bag as I zip it up, because I really don’t want to leave Phil.  I want to be selfish.  I want to spend my last hours with Phil, even though I know that in the end it will hurt him.  He will hurt so bad.  He will not be able to function. 

I will not be able to function without him.  I love him to much.

But I will only have to survive a month (if that).

He will have to survive the rest of his life.

I couldn’t do that to him.   

* * *

He's sitting on the couch, watching  _My Neighbour Totoro_ for the millionth time.  His eyes are lit up as the light emitting from the TV dances across the screen in rays of blue, purple and black.  I look up at him, in awe of how beautiful he is.  I look away, realising what I have to do.  

_It's now or never_ , I think,  _You'll never get the courage again._

I'm hesitating though, because this will hurt so much.  Out of all the things that I've broken, I don't want him to join the group. 

_Do you want to be a grenade?_ My mind says.  I shake my head.  No.  

"Phil, we need to talk." I say, but it all falls out of my mouth as an incoherent mumble.  I gulp, "We need to talk."  I repeat, clearer this time, although my words are still as quiet.  

"Sure."  He says, grinning at me.  His face falls when he sees my serious expression.  His eyebrows knit together in a frown, and the shining smile disappears from his face.  "What's wrong?"  he says.

"I-err."  I manage to say, before the lump in my throat takes my voice away.  I clear my throat.  "I think we need to break up."  I say, my voice wobbling, tears in my eyes.  I can barely breathe and I'm biting my lip to stop the tears from rushing out of my eyes.  

"What?"  he says, softly.  If I didn't know him like the back of my hand, I would've thought that he hadn't heard me.  But he had.  He just wants to make sure that he understood me correctly, because I just said the words that he never wanted to hear.  

"I'm breaking up with you."  I say softly, looking away from him.  If he looks into my eyes, he will see how much this is hurting me, how much every word I'm saying is torturing me, and he will know something is up.  

_I will not be a grenade_.

"Why?"  He says, his voice cracking.  Tears begin to well up in his eyes, "Please, Dan, don't do this, please, I  _love_ you, I can't-" His words are cut off with a sob, and it feels as though I have been stabbed straight through the heart.  "Dan, please, don't do this, I can be  _better_ , I can change, please, I  _love_ you."

"I'm sorry."  I whisper, a tease falling down my cheek.  I gulp back the lump in my throat.   

"Please."  he whispers back, looking up into my eyes.  "I love you."

I place my hand on his cheek, and brush one of his tears away with my thumb. I pull him close to me, I let his head fall onto my chest.  I kiss him on top of his head. 

"I'm sorry."  I whisper again.  

"I love you."  he repeats.

"I love you, too."  I say, "But we need to break up."

"Why?"  He said, and desperation fills his body again, and he pulls away from me.  "If we love each other, we can make this work!  Please, Dan, we can fix it, I can fix it.  Please, don't leave me, _please!_ "  

"I'm sorry."  I say, and I lean in for one last kiss.  The kiss is soft and salty, both of our tears mixing in with the kiss.  It is slow and full of love, full of the bitterness of a goodbye.  It is full of heartbreak and longing for there to be another way.  But he will move on.  One day, he will move on.  This will give him closure.

I pull away.  "Goodbye."  I whisper.

"Stay,"  he says.

"I can't."  I somehow pick myself up off he sofa.  I begin to walk away and he grabs my wrist.  

"Stay."  He says, louder as need shakes his voice, "Dan."

I gently pull his finger off of my wrist and I turn around and rush upstairs, picking my bag up.  He looks hurt, knowing that there was no way to stop me as I'd already packed a bag.

My mind was made up.

"Don't do this!"  he begs, "Please, don't do this, Dan!"

I walk towards the door.

"I love you!"  he pleads.

"I know."  I say, not finding the courage to say it back, "Goodbye."

As I leave the flat, I hear him sobbing.  

_I will not be a grenade._  

I walk out onto the lonely streets of London.  Were they lonely before?  Probably not.

I want him to be at peace, I think, trying to convince myself not to run back into the apartment and take it all back, If I go back, he'll hurt more when I die.

His heart is breaking with mine.  The only difference is that I'll love him until mine stops beating.  He will move on- he  _has_ to move on.  

Move on, my love.  I'll see you on the other side. 

* * *

a boy with dimples  
walks alone in the streets  
the city is alive  
he is alive  
he left the man he loves  
all alone, in tears  
because he will not be a grenade

he is ready to accept fate  
he walks around at night  
taking in the sights of the city  
calm as he listens to the sounds of the city  
he is ready  
he is certain that he isn't a grenade

he wanders home  
drunk  
not on alcohol  
on life  
and the certainty  
that he is ready for death  
because he will not be a grenade

he sleeps

he doesn't wake up  
instead, he is wrapped up  
in death's cold arms  
and in the belief that he is not a grenade

a raven haired boy  
cries alone at night  
_my love_  
he wants to scream  
_my love, where are you?_

he sleeps

he forces himself to wake up  
but all he wants   
is to fall into the forgotten  
and all he wants   
is to forget

he wants to forget _him_  
he wants to forget his brown hair,  
his dimples, his smile,  
his laugh that ricocheted around the walls.  
he wants to forget falling in love  
because the memories all stab him

_is it possible to die of a broken heart?_  
he thinks  
_life is something i no longer want_  
_it is empty and broken without him_  

and, as if he deserved more heartbreak  
he receives a call

he picks up, already a mess,   
she tries to tell him what happened  
she tries to explain  
she tries to console him

but his love has left him.

and he is shattered

**Author's Note:**

> don't kill me.
> 
> i am planning a sequel (from Phil's POV), so let me know if y'all want to see that. 
> 
> i'm also working on other one-shots (isn't that fun), so look forwards to them. 
> 
> if you are reading either of my chaptered pics, i might not upload for a while (well, i might post a chapter of in pieces and then just be MIA), so please bear with me on that front. 
> 
> i hope you guys liked this story, thanks so much for reading, bye! xx


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